


You can't trust anyone anymore, can you?

by Nejinee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fem!Castiel, Female Castiel, Genderbending, Genderswap, Humor, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is such an asshole. </p><p>What kind of brother doesn't tell Dean that their local angel of the Lord has had the old magical curse male-to-female switcheroo? What kind of asshole sits back and watches their first encounter unfold? Who does that?</p><p>A Sam Winchester kind of asshole, that's who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can't trust anyone anymore, can you?

 

“Well?” 

Sam dropped his phone on the diner table and ran his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I dunno, he’s coming.”

Cas nodded. “Ok, that’s good, I suppose.”

Sam sighed loudly and sat back, staring across the table. 

“What did he say?” Cas asked calmly as he stirred copious amounts of sugar into the small ceramic tea cup that all shitty diners seemed to buy in bulk. The tinkling of the spoon against the cup’s side sounded delicate and unnerving all at once. Like a ticking time bomb.

“About your, uh, situation? Nothing.”

Cas raised both brows. 

“That,” Sam rapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Is because he wasn’t listening. I told him it was like a repeat of that time in that queer bar, that magical whatever bar, and he just started cackling like a damn witch.” Sam sighed. “He pretty much signed off with ‘Be there soon, _Samantha_.’”

“Ah,” Cas nodded slowly. “Well, I’m sure it will be a bit frustrating, but he’ll understand the seriousness of the situation fairly promptly.”

Sam snorted. “When he sees you? Ah, yeah, he will. God, this is so stupid!”

A couple nearby looked up anxiously at the clearly aggravated giant man with the dangerous floppy hair. Humans were so silly. Cas always thought so.

“We’ll fix it, Sam,” Cas said calmly, like he wasn’t in some kind of messed up alternate reality.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam chimed back. “We will. Yeah. You just gotta promise me one thing.”

“And what would that be?” Cas said, setting his teaspoon aside and folding his fingers together on the table.

“You have got to make sure I’m here when he sees you. Pinky promise.”

Cas frowned and tilted his head. “Okay. That seems not unreasonable.”

Sam chuickled. “No, man, this is gonna be great. He is going to make so many faces and, oh, man, I’m going to use this against him for _centuries._ I’m going to picture it for the rest of my life. I might even frame the memory. God, I wish we had a camera for these kinds of things.”

Cas pursed his lips. “You are a strange man, Sam Winchester.”

“ _Centuries_ , Cas. Centuries.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot. Dean squinted at the sign blinking atop the shitty fake-fifties diner Sam was always inevitably drawn to.  _Fancy city lawyer my ass_ , he thought with a smirk. Sam belonged in the world of hunting. Man, if he’d ended up an actual bonafide lawyer, he’d never be able to explain his need to visit podunk town diners with shitty coffee and nasty omelettes. Every place like this was like coming home, to a Winchester.

 

Dean climbed out of his baby, slipping his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. The Midwest sun was burning down on this fine establishment. Dean hoped they had air conditioning.

He loped up to the door, perhaps more than a little eager to have his fun with Sam. By his tone on the phone, the younger Winchester sounded beyond horrified with the ol’ switcheroo. It had happened before, the memory sealed in a glass case of Dean’s mind, forever cherished. The day Sam had wandered out of a dive bar washroom as a woman had been the jewel in Dean’s ‘Ha-ha-Sam’ crown.

And to think it had happened again. Dean couldn’t hold back the smug grin as he entered the tiny diner.

He looked around, trying to place the feminine version of his brother, expecting a butch chick, only to be disappointed with a familiar shot on a mop-haired moron at a booth by himself.

“Dude,” Dean hissed, sliding into the vinyl seat opposite Sam. “What the hell, man? Were you lying to me?” 

“Hi to you too,” Sam said, eyeing the menu in his sasquatch hands.

“Oh come on,” Dean moaned, falling back dramatically. “Why you gotta get my hopes up like that? I was gonna go buy you a pretty dress too.”

Sam glared up through his eyebrows. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. He looked around. Not too bad a place. Typical red and white interior with the same ol’ black and white checkerboard interior designs found all across this great nation.

It wasn’t overly busy. Coupla old folks over by the window were poring over the newspaper. Some kind of girl scout troop was prepping for battle, or something, in the corner.

A few crotchety truckers were solidly seated along the bar. Yep, Mid-West America.

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Sam said sharply.

Dean shrugged. His eyes caught on some shapely ass over by the cashier. He perked up.

Oh hell yes. A young woman in jeans and a white tank top was talking softly to the cashier. From behind, she seemed fairly petite, tan, slim and with a shock of short, dark hair.

The cashier smiled broadly from beneath her diner cap. Ain’t that sweet?

“Hello?” Sam snapped his fingers.

Dean distractedly looked at his brother. “What?”

“We still have a problem, Dean. Cas is-“

“Yeah, where is he? Didn’t you say he was with you?” Dean’s eyes wandered back to the counter. The young woman was counting out a bunch of bills. She rolled them carefully and pushed them into her back pocket.

Fucking _hell_. She had turned, eyes careful on her small tray of treats as she walked. _Damn, son_. Dean wet his lips. She was fucking _gorgeous_. The hell was a girl like that doing in a shithole like this? She looked to be in her late-twenties, maybe thirties. Sharp cheekbones, smooth tan skin and all. Pity she seemed completely focused on carrying her food to her table.

“Dean!” Sam snapped. 

“ _What_?” Dean snapped right back. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Sam started droning on about something, bla-bla-bla-curse-bla-bla, but all Dean could see was that chick. Man, where did girls like her hide out? Did they hibernate or something? Shit, she was totally heading this way, probably to a seat behind them. 

Dean shifted in his seat, ready. Fuck what Sam was saying. Ah, who cared? 

“Would you shut up?” Dean waved at Sam. The woman had loose, pale jeans on and was sockless in some, what could only be brand new, white sneakers. Her jeans were rolled up over her ankles and damn, if it wasn’t adorable.

He slammed his hand on the table and eyed Sam. “I call dibs.” Pre-emptive strike.

Sam frowned. “Dibs? On what?”

Dean just gave him the crazy eyes before turning back to the woman.

Dean cleared his throat just as she neared. Then she stopped at their table.

God _damn_ he was good! He didn’t even have to make eye contact for women to be stopped by the ol’ Winchester charm. Hook, line, sinker!

“Hey,” Dean cocked a brow and grinned.

She looked up at him.

Dean almost bit his tongue off. Her eyes were so blue. So _blue_. And big and round, with seriously crazy eyelashes. Like satan-worshipping-wish-fulfilling crazy.

She carefully placed the tray she was carrying onto their table. Damn. It was piled high with ridiculously small pastries. We’re talking eclairs, danishes, peach turnovers and a small mountain of mini donuts topped with a massive mound of hand-whipped cream. Huh. Girl had an appetite.

Dean glanced at Sam, then he did a double-take.

“The fuck you smiling at?” Dean asked.

Sam’s grin was practically splitting his face in two. His brows were high and he looked about ready to combust. It wouldn’t have gone amiss if Sam had suddenly started steepling his fingers and singing a villainous show tune. _Weirdo._

“So, are you our waitress, darlin’?” Dean said, turning back instead, to focus his attention on one of the most ravishing creatures he’d ever laid eyes on.

She blinked, looked at Sam, then said, “No.” She stared at Dean and he felt his gut do a wobble. Good God, her lips were so soft-looking. Pink and lush and everything.

“May I sit?” she said then, not averting her gaze from Dean’s.

Oh, well, that was fresh. Who was Dean to deny himself some sexy new company?

“Sure!” He slid across the booth and patted the seat he’d now vacated. “Have a seat.”

She nodded and slipped into the booth. Up close, her skin seemed almost flawless, like she’d never had a sunburn, or ever been out in the sun, ever. Naturally tan and beautiful to boot.

Dean was gonna go full throttle on this opportunity.

“Uh, Dean,” Sam interrupted his thoughts with his ugly man-beast voice.

“Not now, Sammy.” Dean said. “We have a new friend.” He smiled at her. Her tank top looked brand new, so crisp was the white cotton. She had nice long fingers too, he’d noticed, as she picked up a cream-covered donut. And let’s not pretend that Dean hadn’t taken in her decent rack. Distractingly awesome rack. “So, sweetheart, you live around these parts?”

She looked up at him and blinked those dopey wide eyes. So familiar, so dopey. Dean felt a warmth in his belly as she tried to talk around her donut-stuffed mouthful. 

“Well, this is precious,” Sam murmured under his breath. “Hey, Dean, can I borrow your phone for a minute? It has a camera, right?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Dean didn’t look away from her as he fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and slid it across the table.

“Would you gentlemen like any more coffee?” their actual, totally not bombshell waitress said from behind Sam.

Dean nodded. “Yes! And you?” He turned to stare into those blue depths of the strange girl beside him. “You want anything? My treat.”

She licked her thumb and said, “No thank you. I’m fine.” The waitress eyed the chick’s massive dessert mound, but didn’t comment.

“Coffee, please,” Sam said to the waitress, eyes fixed on Dean’s phone.

“Same,” Dean said, not sparing another second as their waitress turned to go.

“You arrived fairly quickly,” the chick said, finally done licking cream and sugar off her fingers. Her voice was like caramel, warm and rich. Kind of alarming coming out of someone so slight.

“Sam said you were visiting the town over.”

“Sam?” Huh, so the two of them had already been chatting. “Uh, yeah. Drove like the devil.” Dean grinned. “my baby drives faster’n the knights of hell.”

“Oh God, Dean,” Sam whined. “Really? Your car?”

“Ignore him,” Dean said, sidling over so his shoulder leaned down to hers. “He’s just jealous I drive a monster of a machine. Big, beautiful engine.”

He could hear Sam’s eyes rolling in his dumb head.

“Hmm,” she responded. She lifted a caramel-covered dessert and took a bite out of it, brows furrowing. Dean’s breath caught as a dribble of caramel stuck to her chin. She chewed slowly, as though analyzing the flavor.

“Uh, you got some-“ Dean nudged his chin at her. Oh Fuck, now he was staring at her boobs as she wiped her chin with a napkin. From this much closer angle, he could tell her breasts would be the pert, soft kind. He could imagine them being maybe a handful each. Mmm, handfuls.

“You’re staring at my breasts, Dean,” she rumbled.

Dean jumped. Oops.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So blue, those eyes.

Sam snickered.

“I understand that breasts can be distracting. Sam was teaching me earlier. He explained that some men might not be able to look away and that they have no real right to stare in the first place.” This, this _woman,_ pulled at her tank top and stared down into the neckline, revealing more luscious skin and some kind of simple skin-coloured bra to Dean’s wide eyes.

Dean’s face almost melted off his skull.

 

Sam was almost choking behind his hand.

Dean glared at his brother.

“Okay, my apologies,” Dean leaned back and raised both hands. He felt his neck heating up though. This petite woman with her (what looked to be) insanely thick and soft hair, was giving him lessons on not being a perv. Okay, lesson learned.

“Dude, you don’t even know her name,” Sam wheezed. “Oh my God, so rude. Caveman.”

Dean had never wanted to punch his baby brother more than at that exact moment.

Though he had a point.

Dean cleared his throat. “My name’s Dean, let’s start over.”

She looked at him and blinked. Then she furrowed her brows and gosh darn it if that didn’t just make him squirm, especially when she tilted her head like a baby owl.

“I know your name, Dean.” she said bluntly.

“All right, So Sammy told you some bullshit about me. Thanks, bro.” Dean shifted back in his seat.

“I said nothing, I swear,” Sam said, staring down at Dean’s phone again.

“So what is your name?” Dean leaned forward again, completely twisted in his seat, all attention on her. “I need a pretty name for a pretty face.” And there it was, the reliable Winchester grin. Knocked the ladies dead.

“Castiel.”

Dean’s smiled widened. “Hah, that’s cute. He tell you to say that?”

She looked at Sam, then back at Dean. 

“Could you repeat that?” Sam said. For some godforsaken reason, the idiot was holding Dean’s phone up in both hands, like a complete moron.

“Castiel is my name,” she said calmly. “Or Cas, I suppose, though you are the only one who calls me that. Balthazar had a habit of the diminutive ‘Cassie’ but I feel he was mocking me more than anything else.”

“Haaah,” Dean said slowly, smile wide. “You’re funny. I like funny.”

“Are you being sarcastic, Dean? You know I struggle with sarcasm.” Her unwavering gaze was kind of unsettling. And waaaay too familiar.

Dean’s grin faltered and his heartbeat sped up. They were messing with him. Some kind of plan these two had cooked up. 

“Um, okay, _Castiel_ , sure that’s your name.” He looked over at Sam. Sam with this completely manic grin on his face as he stared at Dean’s phone. “Kind of a weird name, don’t you think, Sam?”

“Nope!” Sam said brightly. “That’s why I called you, remember?”

Dean leaned across the table. “No, you said you found another place like that freakin’ queer bar. The one that flips guys into chicks and chicks into guys.” He probably sounded crazy saying this shit in front of this girl. Then again, she sounded like a whackjob herself.

“Yeah, Dean,” and finally, Sam looked up. “We did. Except this time it’s not me.”

What? That made no sense. Last time, that weird bar had some kind of curse on it that turned Sam into a whiny bitch. Unless Sam was sporting boobies under that plaid, it wasn’t _anything_ like last time. Sam just slowly raised his eyebrows.

Dean swallowed.

He turned to look back at the cute girl with the full lips, fluffy dark bedhead and heart-achingly beautiful eyes…

“Oh my fucking God,” Dean breathed. His voice came out like a squeaky toy. “Oh fucking hell no. No to the H-E-double hockey sticks.”

Sam nodded vigorously, bottom lip held between his teeth in sheer glee.

“NO.” Dean said firmly, slamming his hands over his eyes. “FUCK!”

“Dean, are you okay?” that caramel voice said. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. A small, long-fingered hand that was definitely not attached to a female angel of the Lord with personal space issues. 

“See, now if you listened more, you wouldn’t have just shat your pants,” Sam cackled.

Dean glared at his brother through his fingers. Sam was still holding the phone up like that. Like he - _fuck!_

Dean snatched at his phone, but Sam was quicker. “Are you taking photos of this? You sonofabitch!”

“I’m not!” Sam laughed, pulling his hand way out of reach. “I’m taking video.”

“Sammy!” Dean almost threw himself over the formica table.

“Dean, calm down,” this _Cas_ said gently. “You’re alarming the other patrons.”

Dean scooted down the bench and glared at-at this _person._

“You’re Cas? Castiel? Assbutt of the Lord?”

She frowned, “That was a silly mistake. You know my grasp on profanities wasn't strong at the time, Dean.”

Dean’s chest felt all hot and grindy, like a machine was burning coal to get started.

“Aaaggghh,” Dean groaned. “You even sound like him. Like a giant nerd. UGH.”

This was so messed up.

“It was surprising to Sam and myself at the time. Some magic is indeed strong enough to affect angels on this plane.”

“Fuck it, Cas, stop touching yourself!” Dean cried. The damn idiot had been running his hands over his chest and tummy like his new body was a damn exhibit.

“Christmas comes twice this year,” Sam said gleefully.

“Your coffee,” their waitress from before said suddenly. She placed their drinks down none too softly and eyed all three of them.

“I do not think she likes us,” Cas said, watching her leave.

Dean felt all sweaty. Fuck.

“Well, not if you’re gonna fuckin’ grope yourself in public, you monster,” Dean grumbled.

He slopped his coffee as he gulped it down.

“How am I a monster?” Cas said with that now perfectly familiar frown. Even if the brows were tamer, the expression was all Cas. “I’m only female for the time being, Dean. I’m not suddenly evil.” God, without the stubble and crazy jawline, Cas looked damn precious.

“Like hell you are.” With a body like that, Cas was practically a walking sin. _No, stop thinking like that._

 “Well, we know how to fix it,” Sam said, finally putting the phone away and focusing on Dean’s mental breakdown. “There’s an abandoned church on the state border. Legend says it was a base for some seriously creepy shit some scuzzo priest pulled about three hundred years ago. Something about whores and brothels and murder and stuff. Same old same old.”

This was not helping.

“So we go burn it to the ground?” Dean whimpered.

“Pretty much!” Sam answered jovially. “You know we were gonna do it ourselves, but figured you’d want in.”

Dean glared daggers. “You are such an asshole.”

Sam just grinned wider and took up his coffee.

“I apologize if this startled you, Dean. That was not our intent,” freakin’ Girl-Cas said.

Dean couldn’t look at her. Him. He couldn’t look at those eyelashes, or that face ever again. This was about the worst shit Sam had ever pulled. Made sense now, why Lucifer wanted his meatsuit. Filled with evil. Sam Winchester, flaming bag of evil.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean said, licking his lips. _It’s not your fault you make a damn fine woman._

“Well,” Sam (the traitor) said, after finishing up his coffee. “No time like the present.”

As he got up to pay, Dean shuffled Cas out of the booth.

What a complete mess today was shaping up to be. Whizzing past the cashier, Dean made a point of no eye contact with anyone who might have witnessed his meltdown. He needed to get out of this place, pronto.

“Dean, wait!” 

Girl-Cas jogged up to meet his stride. “Sam is coming.”

Ugh.Looking at her/him now, Dean couldn’t imagine why he didn’t realize immediately. Hell, he hadn’t even required confirmation. This was obviously Cas. The tilt of the head. The baby sparrow that fell out of its nest. The whole shebang.

“Goddamnit,” Dean looked skyward. He’d been staring at her legs. Long, long legs. “okay, let’s get this over with.”

He looked at this version of Cas. “Let me just,” he twirled his finger in the universal sign of “turn for me”.

Cas blinked.

“Turn around, let me check the merchandise.”

Cas considered this for a second. Then he obliged by turning around once.

Stupid jeans. Stupid tight ass in nicely cut denim. Stupid Sam. Stupid everything.

Dean figured he was going to have to get his brain checked. This wasn’t like when Sam had been a girl for a whole twenty minutes. That time he’d just wanted to melon-ball his eyeballs out of his skull. This? This was fucking annoying. Cas was a hot chick and no amount of alcohol was going to burn this memory away from Dean’s overactive imagination. And it’s not like she even fit into his typical standard for women; Mainly being: confident, long-haired,ass-kicking, super-sexy vixens on motorcycles. Cas was getting his own damn room in Dean’s spank-bank and there wasn’t a damn thing the winchester could do about it.

No, for some reason, Cas was hitting some crazy-ass trifecta of female perfection that, even in a boring, plain, meat suit, was triggering all kinds of imagery in Dean’s head.

Sam trundled up to them, looking smug as ever.

“You ready?” he snickered. 

Well, might as well get one more shot in before this whole mess was over.

“Yeah, sure. Hey, Cas, come here.”

This prettier version of the angel, stepped forward. “Yes?”

“Seeing as you’ll be getting rid of this in less than an hour, how about you let me have a peek at the merchandise?” He clicked his tongue.

“Dean!” Sam squawked. “Inappropriate! Just because it’s Cas doesn’t mean you can get away with being a creep.”

Cas just considered it. “I assume you mean I should allow you to fully understand this female body?”

“Just ignore him, Cas.”

Cas tilted his head as Sam clambered into the Impala.

“I see nothing wrong with that,” Cas said amiably and began tugging his tank top over his head.

 

“CAS! NO!” Sam bellowed, banging his head in his haste to leap back out of the car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I just wanted to write this idea up quickly. Thank you for reading, and apologies for the gross woman-leering Dean partakes in. He's such a doof (and his behaviour is gross).


End file.
